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The Valentine's Day February Challenge ~ Film Night~

♥ VALENTINE CHALLENGE ♥

(don’t groan)

For February, your barmaids would like you to write a Valentine’s Day drabble set at either Hogwarts, Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. You may use any characters and any era, but there needs to be a pairing involved (canon or non canon).
There is a catch. (obviously)

Here are some quotations** from films. They are famous lines from classic films. You need to pick one of them and include it in your drabble.

If there is a name in the quotation, then you may change it, but not the title of said person.

Example – you may change Mrs Robinson to Mrs Black if you really want to write about Walburga, but you cannot change Mrs Robinson to Miss Black – cappiche?

All drabbles must meet MNFF standards. We judge not only on SPaG but characterisation and plot. We also reserve the right to not award points if the drabbles received are not of sufficient quality.
Do not let the fate of this fair lady befall you. Click here.

Closing date February 29th 10pm GMT.

Your barmaids await your entries with glee.

Mesdames Russia and Carole

** thank you welshdevondragon for drumming the quotation/quote thingummy into my head

"Oh, Jerry, don't let's ask for the moon. We have the stars." – Now, Voyager

Word Count: 500 exactly in my text editing prog...A/N: I haven't read about the Astronomy Tower in this context for a while and figured it was time it got some business... And shockingly worked up a load of head canon for Aurora Sinistra...

The moon was but a thin line in the sky, his favourite stage. Madam Pomfrey’s healing potions had already worked wonders, and the next full moon seemed a lifetime away. As the wind blew lightly through his hair, he looked down on the grounds, towards Hagrid’s hut, but the everything was shrouded in blissful darkness.

When the door behind him opened, Remus turned around, a smile already on his face.

For a moment, she busied herself with setting up the telescope, then turned back to him. “I sometimes forget that’s what we come up here for.” She put her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss. “I almost visited you in the hospital wing last week,” she whispered as they pulled apart. “But I could never get you on your own. Honestly, what is it with those friends of yours?”

“I never thought I’d regret having them around all the time,” Remus said and kissed her again. “You have no idea how much I missed you, Aurora. I wish I could just tell them, but...”

“It wouldn’t work,” she replied, and squeezed his shoulders. “I get it. The Gryffindor and the Slytherin – we’d make life very difficult for ourselves.”

“They don’t know you.” He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “If they did, if they took the time to get to know you, it’d all be different.”

She laughed, and another gust of wind blew her hair around her face. “Yes, if. And I’m sure my friends would be thrilled – if you were a Ravenclaw.”

“I suppose so. They can accept that I’m a werewolf, but they’d never forgive me for seeing a Slytherin. It’s not that I mind these nightly meetings,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her neck, “I just wish I could see you more often, take you out for Valentine’s day next week... You don’t know how hard it is to just walk past you at school.”

“I think I do, really.” A small gasp escaped her as his lips reached her collarbone.

He paused for a moment to look at her, unsure whether she was truly real. “I still can’t believe that you’re doing this with me, even though you know what I am.”

“If I hadn’t known you before I found out, that might have been different. But I do know you, and I know what my father used to be like. You’re not a monster.”

“I just wish you didn’t have to put up with this. You know, if only we had a way to block out the moon once a month, then I wouldn’t have to go to the hospital wing, and–”

"Oh, Remus, don't let's ask for the moon. We have the stars. Tonight and every night." she said, and kissed him.

This completely gorgeous banner, which makes me happier than a squirrel, was made by Hokey

Sirius stared at the bottle in his hand. It was empty. How dare it be empty? Wearily, he raised himself upright, and stumbled from his bed to the other side of the room. He heard the crash of glass, which meant his grip must have loosened, and the bottle fallen to the floor. He didn’t care. Served it right for being empty.

Firewhisky. This was better. He poured himself a large glass. He’d intended to down it, but the liquid was burning his throat, so he resorted to taking two gulps. He was about to pour another glass, before he decided to take the bottle with him to bed.

As he lay down, a breeze blew through the window, and grumbling, he fumbled for his wand, found it eventually under the bed. The window slammed shut.

Without the noise of the Muggle traffic, the room was horribly silent, save for him taking swigs of Firewhisky.

Sirius didn’t like the silence. He lazily waved his wand, opening his wardrobe door to reveal a small television. He wished that, as a teenager, he’d had the guts to put it on his desk. The Muggle women, with vacuous smiles, large t***, hips and waspish waists, seemed an impotent sign of rebellion, when he thought of the posters of naked sailors he’d kept under his bed. They weren’t there any more. He had briefly wondered if Regulus had taken them, but that forced him to re-evaluate his view of his brother, something he refused to do.

Taking another swig, he waved his wand, and to his surprise, the television switched on. It was black and white, the image fuzzy, but the noise made Sirius feel better, and less suffocated by this room, which stank. Sneaky smells of rotting food (from the corner, beneath that pile of robes), unwashed clothes, his filthy body, and most of all, the over-powering smell of alcohol.

He wasn’t even sure what he was drinking anymore, taking another glug, and grateful that the bottle was still half full.

He shouldn’t be this p*****. But then he shouldn’t have groped Remus the week before. And Remus shouldn’t be going for a drink with Nymphadora on bloody, f****** Valentine’s Day. And James shouldn’t be dead.

On the television, a horribly earnest and insipid woman, with an irritating twist of the head, was saying, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” before cutting to an equally insipid looking man. Sirius never found out how the young man replied to this statement, because he’d already thrown the Firewhisky at the screen, shattering it, causing a few white sparks, before fizzling out of life.

That was b*******. And now he had no alcohol. He pulled the quilt over him, and tried to sleep. But it wouldn’t come, and all he could think as he tried to will himself into oblivion, alcohol having been no use, was, James, I’m sorry, James, I’m sorry, over and over again.